The Illager Tragedy
by P0pR0cks
Summary: Tom is the last of his kind. His people, the Illagers, were exiles, living a peaceful life in a massive secluded mansion in the woods. Peaceful, that is, until The Murderer came. The Murderer was fierce, near invincible, and had no mercy. Stripped of everything he once held dear, Tom sets out to find The Murderer and exact his revenge upon the one that brought ruin to his family.


Tom tightened his grip on his axe, knuckles whitening. The the tip of a tall spire had just come into view above the horizon of endless treetops, a tiny thin line of black that protruded into the bright blue sky. To be visible from this distance, the tower must have been enormous. That was it, that was the village Tom had spent his entire life trying to find. He dragged his boat onto the sandy shore, a small distance away from the forest that hid the fated village in his depths. He would never need to sail again.

Tom was an Illager. Cursed with unsettling gray skin, a hairless head, and a droopy nose, he was a repulsive sight. And he was the last of his kind. That night, as Tom burned another plank of wood from his boat on the campfire, he looked up at the smoke rising into the starry void and remembered the day that his life was ripped to pieces.

Tom was Tommy then. He was the only child among his massive family of adult Illagers. They treasured him beyond the worth of diamonds and taught him everything they knew. They taught him about the exile of their kind from the village long ago. They told him that he was their hope, the only sign that the race of strange Illagers would continue on. His mother would sing to him on the balcony of the top floor as the sun would set - beautiful melodies passed down through generations would color the world like the panoramic orange sky. He spent his early childhood exploring and running among the massive wooden corridors of the woodland mansion they called home. It was a gorgeous sight to behold, a marvel of architecture. It was big enough to hold the entire family of dozens of Illagers with room to spare, yet still felt warm and familiar, like the tiny cozy shacks Tom would occasionally see dotting the mountains of islands he had sailed past.

Tom stared into the fire and bit hungrily into some cooked meat. He felt his heart beat faster.

The Murderer had come without warning. A wet slash and a bloodcurdling scream echoed down the hallways, and all the men and women immediately stood up and grabbed their axes. Tom spent the day locked in a secret room with his mother, listening to his family get murdered one by one. "It's just one man!" they had shouted, as the men and women tried to overwhelm The Murderer. The clash of metal and screaming of Illagers moved through the halls around Tom and his mother, and continued for hours until finally the mansion was silent. Warm tears ran down his face and onto his mother's hand, who was covering his mouth, trying to muffle his whimpers. In a shaky voice she tried to console him when the crack of a board made her squeal involuntarily. The Murderer was hacking his way into the room from the wall to their right. "Hide!" she whispered desperately. "Get in one of the chests!" Tommy fiercely nodded and ran down a corridor of chests and climbed into one on the top row. He curled into a ball and pressed his hands hard against his ears, trying to block out the cracking of The Murderer's axe against wood. He heard his mom scream and go silent. Tommy shook uncontrollably and breathed silent ragged breaths. The Murderer began to open the dozens of chests that lined the walls of the room. Tommy heard the squeaking of their rusty hinges get closer and closer until finally The Murderer let out a frustrated huff as he realized that all the chests were empty. The thudding of footsteps and the cracking of another wall signaled The Murderer's exit.

Tommy stayed in his chest and cried silently until he fell asleep. He remained in his chest until his hunger pains forced him out. He walked out to an uncharacteristically bright day and an empty ghost of his former home. All the chests were raided, his family's treasures gone. Walls were broken through with abandon, and even the crops and saplings in the farm rooms were torn from the very soil. And all the books, the shelves upon shelves of books that were once filled with all the knowledge and history of their people, they were all were gone. His family and his legacy were inexplicably torn from him in a single night and by a single terrible person. Tommy curled up in what was once his room, on what was once his bed, and tearfully mourned the loss of his entire race.

Tom woke from his troubled sleep. The sun had barely come up over the ocean and was gracing his face with warm light. He stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes and scattered the still-warm coals from his fire last night. He slid his axe firmly into the holster on his belt and set into the woods towards the village. The Murderer had been careless in his slaughter and had left a few items from his own pack scattered among the chests in the Mansion - among them was a map. It was an old crumbly map by now, and hadn't served Tom much while he was learning to survive on his own. But it was a constant reminder of what happened, of the promise Tom made to himself as a teen that he would find the Murderer again and kill him. It had taken him years of wandering and surviving, but now the map was describing the landscape around him. He quickened his pace toward the village where he would take his revenge on The Murderer.

There it was, in full view. On the top of a tall hill, Tom peeked through tall grass at the massive village before him. This must've been the birthplace of his ancestors long ago - he could tell by the familiar architecture of a few of the buildings that peeked over the top of the city walls. A gigantic church dwarfed even the tallest buildings - an excessively ornate structure with stained glass windows and slender pointed spires. At the front of the church, the central tower stretched impossibly high into the sky, such that the clouds themselves passed gently across its cobblestone edifice. This was the spire he had spotted from the shore last afternoon. It must've been built by the Murderer. His descendants would've never built such a thing.

Coming in and out of the city gate were villagers, and they looked much like him. There was no doubt that this is where his people once lived, among these fleshy tan people with noses like Tom's who had forced his ancestors into exile. He felt anger at the normal way they walked around, families and friends, not knowing the pain they had caused his race. He stood up and walked down toward the city gate.

He tried to blend in with a group of villagers that were coming in through the gate. He made it into the city without much problem, but the villagers were beginning to take notice of him. The crowd grew silent as they walked, and the mass of people on the street began thinning around him. As he got closer and closer to the central church, the population of the village seemed to shrink as doors locked around him and villagers peeked anxiously out their top-story windows at him. The church was at the end of the street now, its colorful stained windows gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. He eyed the buildings around him. Many of them had been corrupted by The Murderer's overbearing architecture. Unnatural and bulging cobblestone rooms jutted out from the sides of the once-simple buildings, and many houses had been appended several more floors than any Illager or Villager would ever build. The Murder was surely the master of these people. He had taken over their home and redefined all of their culture and belongings as his own. Tom wondered if the fate of his people was better or worse than this.

A glimmer of bright blue caught Tom's eye. A figure had just walked out of the church and was now looking at Tom. It was The Murderer. He was clad in gleaming diamond armor, ornately interlocking pieces coating his entire body. His face was bearded and slightly tan like the villagers, but with a small nose and blue eyes. He looked surprised. He stepped towards Tom and unsheathed a brilliant diamond sword. The blade itself glowed, not just from the sunlight, but perhaps from countless enchantments stolen from the books of his own people. His other arm bore a heavy wooden shield lined with iron studs. Still, The Murderer looked more confused than hostile.

Tom's blood came to a boil. His face grew red and he bore his teeth. This was the killer of his entire race! And he didn't even seem phased by Tom's appearance! Tom hoisted the axe out of his belt and held it in both hands. He roared as he charged towards The Murderer. The Murderer took a few steps back and raised his shield against the deadly downward swing of the axe blade. Tom's axe crashed down onto the shield with terrible strength and sent The Murderer staggering backwards, chest exposed. Tom lifted the axe again and put all his fury and power into the next swing. The blade of the axe shot bright sparks in all directions as it buried into the diamond armor. The axe cleaved a clean line diagonally across the chestplate and The Murderer fell backwards.

The Murderer looked annoyed. He was prepared for the next blow. He blocked the axe swing deftly and this time it was Tom who stumbled back. The Murderer swiftly stood up and slashed at Tom with a quick sideways slice that created a bright blue afterimage as the blade arced sideways through the air. Tom barely managed to jump backwards and dodge the swipe when another glimmering slash sliced across his ribs. Tom cried out in pain and fell to his knees. A heavy diamond boot kicked Tom over onto his back and pinned his chest onto cobblestone ground. Tom coughed and looked up at the point of the diamond sword, inches from his face. He looked into The Murderers eyes and shouted in anguish "How could you do this to us!? How could you possibly be so cruel! You've murdered us! You've murdered us!"

The Murderer's face showed no sympathy. It didn't even show understanding. In fact, he acted as if Tom had merely uttered an an unintelligible grunt. In a motion that was smooth and natural, as if it had been done a thousand times before, The Murderer pulled back his sword and thrust it effortlessly into Tom's torso. Tom felt an intense hot explosion of pain across his chest, but it quickly vanished. He was slipping away, joining his family. His final thoughts turned towards his mother and the beautiful melodies of his childhood, his bitter pain and anger dissipating effortlessly into the peaceful ocean of death.


End file.
